Like Father
by Lieutenant Brosky
Summary: After returning from Japan, Logan's nightmares start to get worse. When his memories are partially restored by the Professor, Logan leaves the Xavier Institute once again; this time in search for his long lost daughter and meets some interesting new friends along the way.


A/N: Movies that are cannon in this story:

The beginning scene from _X-Men Origins: Wolverine -_ **WE DON'T TALK ABOUT THE REST OF THAT MOVIE**

 _X-Men: First Class_

 _X-Men_

 _X2: X-Men United_

Every MCU Movie up to _Captain America: The Winter Soldier_

 _Deadpool_

Most of _The Wolverine_

 ** _X-MEN: THE LAST STAND_ DID NOT HAPPEN. END OF STORY. FUCK THAT MOVIE. JEAN IS DEAD, GOOD RIDDANCE.**

 **Note:** Because of the above statement, Logan had a different reason for being a loner in _The Wolverine_. I'll leave said reason to your imagination. Because there are elements of RoLo in this story, Logan broke up with Mariko at the end of _The_ _Wolverine_ because, despite loving her, he knew the relationship wouldn't work out because of the distance. Mariko agreed with him and they both left on happy terms.

(See, I can have my cake and eat it too)

This story is meant to be after _The Wolverine_. So it's before _Age of Ultron_ and _X-Men: Days of Future Past_.

There are some elements from the comics and other TV shows. I had to make Laura a bit older for the continuity to work, so she's 15 instead of 11. Hopefully I'll find some way to tie this into cannon. Anyway, with all that out of the way, enjoy!)

Thoughts: _'sampletext'_

Telepathy: **_'sampletext'_**

* * *

Chapter One

Echoes of the Past

It's been a week since Logan's return to the School for Gifted Youngsters. Everyone had been overjoyed to see him, happy that he finally came back home, supposedly for good.

However, even though he's back living with his misfit family, visions of his forgotten past still plague him every night. So much so that he has taken to sleeping in the Mansion's lower levels, because he doesn't want to repeat what happened with Rogue.

One night, a traumatic nightmare drives him to sleepwalk and he rampages through the School's basement, tearing everything to pieces.

That's when the Professor insists they resume Logan's therapy.

The two of them are sitting in Xavier's study, facing one another.

Logan glances at Charles, not wanting to meet his gaze but trying to read his expression at the same time. Charles is looking at him expectantly, one eyebrow raised. It makes Logan feel like a kid sitting in a principal's office.

"I'm sorry, Chuck," he says, fruitlessly trying to hide his unease. "I shouldn't've agreed to come back here. I've clearly done more harm than good. How 'bout we just skip this 'therapy' thing and I just go?" He looks down again, clenching his fists, angry with himself for endangering the lives of his friends, and angry with the bastards that caused his torment. Sometimes he wishes he could hunt down every single one of them and rip their throats out. "You can't fix me, Charles."

"Logan, I'm not trying to _fix_ you," says Charles. "I'm trying to help you." He leans forward, clasping his hands together. "Yes, a person can 'break' in the metaphorical sense. But someone can't fix them as if they were a machine or a piece of programming. They have to fix _themselves_. Others can offer to help and guide them. But, no matter how much help they might receive, in the end, they are the ones who choose if they heal or not. Do you understand?"

Charles awaits Logan's answer and Logan knows that he's just being polite. He feels like calling him on it, because he can, and because he doesn't like it when he's cornered, even figuratively. "Why don't you just read my mind? It's not like I have to answer you," he says.

Charles sighs. "Logan that is very childish of you."

Logan frowns. In retrospect, he supposes it is childish. The question is, is he in the mood to be even more stubborn than usual? He decides that, no, he's not.

"Sorry," he says, forcing his mild embarrassment to the back of his mind. "But really, Charles, how am I supposed to fix myself? I don't even … _know_ myself." He looks up at Charles with uncertainty. "I don't even know if half the things I remember actually happened. How the hell am I supposed to get it all back?"

"By letting me help you," says the Professor.

Logan removes his gaze from him, because it's as if Charles can see straight into his soul and it makes him feel vulnerable, like an exposed nerve.

"I know you don't want to hurt anyone, Logan. But isolation is not the solution. As I recall, the last time you did that, your past caught up with you anyway."

Logan pinches the bridge of his nose and an exasperated sigh leaves his lips. He doesn't want to admit it, but the Professor is right and arguing with him would be about as futile as trying to teach ballet to an elephant. He'd never win. So, finally, his shoulders slump in defeat and he looks up at Charles, accepting what is to come.

"Alright, Charles, I'll do it," he concedes. "But, if I end up hurt'n anyone, I'm leaving. No point in me staying if it's putting the kids in danger."

Charles nods in agreement to Logan's condition. "I hope it won't come to that, my friend," he says.

"I hope so, too," Logan replies and he really means it. He'd hate to leave his friends behind again after seeing their joy at his return. And the kids would miss him too. He has no idea why, but something about him draws young children to him. Rogue explained it to him once. She said 'It's like you give off good vibes or something. It makes kids feel safe, because they know you'll protect them.' Sometimes, he thinks back to what she said. Just to remind himself that he's not an animal.

Charles' voice shakes him out of his thoughts.

"We can begin whenever you're ready," says the Professor, eyeing Logan with mild scrutiny, and Logan thinks that maybe Charles has been trying to get his attention for a few seconds now.

"Might as well get it over with," Logan says quietly. He never likes it when the Prof. goes poking around in his mind, but he puts up with it because it's necessary. "I trust you, Charles. You know that. So I won't blame you if this doesn't work."

"Very well, Logan," says Charles. "I am glad to have your trust." He moves closer, the wheels of his chair barely making a sound on the hardwood floor.

Logan meets his gaze and sees that familiar look on the Professor's face. After so many sessions with him, Logan understands that this means Charles is silently asking for his consent one last time. Logan responds to it with a brief nod, signaling that it's okay for Charles to probe his mind. He shuts his eyes, faintly aware of Charles' hands hovering on each side of his head and he takes a deep breath, because he can tell this is going to be difficult.

"Relax," says Charles. "Open your mind to me."

Logan wants to resist. Everything in his mind is screaming for him not to expose his thoughts to anyone. His veins bulge from stress as he grips the arms of the chair he's sitting in. He shakes his head. ' _I need to relax_ ,' he tells himself, trying to calm down so Charles can work. Finally, he forces his muscles to relax and attempts to open his mind, bit by bit.

' _ **That's it, Logan.'**_

Logan twitches at Charles' words in his mind. It's been so long since the Professor has done that, it catches him off guard.

Then, Logan feels a wave of calmness flow over him and he sighs in relief, relaxing somewhat. ' _Guess Chuck could sense I was gett'n a little antsy,_ ' he thinks, glad that Charles is trying to make this easy on him.

' _ **Now, Logan,**_ _**allow the memories of your last nightmare to drift to the forefront of your mind.'**_

Logan does his best to allow Charles to see terrifying glimpses of the torment he had suffered the previous night, trying to remain calm as he relives the horrors of his past. His brow knits together in deep lines as he struggles, for what seems like hours, to help Charles peel back the layers of his subconscious.

His nightmare is a jumbled mess of images and scenes; a phantasmagoria of vague memories and imaginations created by his own mind, mixed into one horrific conglomeration of pain, panic and sorrow. It would take forever to sort through it all.

' _Like picking sand out of a shag carpet,'_ Logan thinks to himself, using humor as a defense mechanism against the onslaught of ghastly hallucinations.

But the tornado of delirium subsides sooner rather than later and Charles helps him lift a few, somewhat undamaged, memories from the madness.

Logan remembers a steely grin and the echo of a woman's scream just before a white-hot pain shoots through his skull, bathing his vision in red.

A woman stands before him, her ebony hair floating behind her like smoke and with eyes like the ocean, swirling with a tempest of hatred. He knows her but at the same time he doesn't. ' _Who is she? Why do I know her face?'_

Then, a single word sticks out in his mind. A name

 _Laura._

Without even realizing it, Logan screams the name, clasping his head in his hands with a pained groan. ' _Who is the woman with the dark hair? Who is the man with the ugly grin?'_ Mostly, he wondered, ' _Who is Laura?'_

' _ **Calm yourself, Logan. Order your thoughts.'**_

Logan tries to relax again, realizing that Charles can't do anything for him unless he calms down and organizes his thoughts. He tries to concentrate on the woman and sees her again, this time without the hateful eyes.

"S...S-arah?" Logan gasps. ' _That woman...I know her. No, I don't just know her… I love her.'_ He tries to sort it out, but one thing doesn't add up. ' _Where is she? If we were in love, why isn't she here now? What happened to her?'_

Then he sees her in front of him, as clear as day.

" _It's okay, Logan," Sarah said as she slowly reached for him, as if to make it clear to him that she wasn't a threat. She removed a strange device from his head and set it aside. "You don't have to hurt anyone anymore." She gave him a tender kiss on the cheek. "Run," she said. "Run until you find yourself again." Then she was gone._

Logan tries desperately to unearth more of the memory. It doesn't answer any of his questions about Sarah. If anything, it leaves him with more questions. He strains his mind, trying to dig deeper, but he's hit metaphorical bedrock.

Taking this as a sign that he needs to move on, Logan reluctantly tears his focus away from Sarah and brings his thoughts back to the sneering man. Emotions and fragments of memory race through his mind until finally he hears a gunshot and a woman's scream. It's so loud in his mind; it's as if the sound comes from right next to him.

 _Logan sprang from his bed in earnest and flung his door open, running to the edge of the balcony that overlooked the foyer. From there he saw his best friend's father, with a flintlock rifle, holding his sobbing mother hostage and his own father lying limply on his back, blood seeping from his chest._

 _He sprinted down the stairs and skidded to a halt next to the form of his dying father. Tears formed in his eyes when his father reached out and grasped the front of his nightshirt, desperately trying to hold on and choke out his last words before his world slipped away. But he uttered no words of wisdom, or comfort, and his grip fell slack as the light in his eyes burnt out._

" _No…" Logan's mother sobbed._

 _Logan sat there with his mouth hanging open in shock. His father was dead. He looked over at the man who had killed him with cold contempt, wishing he could do something to end him and avenge his father._

 _"James," said the murderer, "there are things you don't understand–"_

 _"Don't!" Logan's mother pleaded._

 _"I need him to know!"_

 _"Please. No. Don't"_

 _"No… more… lies."_

 _But Logan could barely hear them; the torrent of emotions that assaulted his heart had nearly drowned them out. He stared at his father's killer with clenched fists, fingernails digging into his skin._

 _Then something happened._

 _His hands began to itch and he looked down at them in horror as three boney spikes emerged from his knuckles. He screamed, terrified of what was happening to him. The emotions that roiled around inside him had finally pushed him to his breaking point and he threw his head back, his scream turning to one of pure, unbridled rage._

 _He charged at his father's butcher and the man raised his gun to defend himself. His mother stopped the scoundrel from shooting him as he launched himself at the villain, driving his claws into his stomach with an angry howl._

 _The red cleared from his vision and he stared down at his hands, claws buried deep within the older man's abdomen. He looked up at his victim's face and he saw the pain he had caused him._

" _H-he wasn't your father…"the murderer gasped, looking down at Logan._

 _Logan gaped at him in stunned confusion. 'What does he mean?'_

"… _son…"_

 _Logan was speechless. He silently withdrew his claws from the corpse and looked at his mother with eyes that silently asked, 'Is it true? Why did you lie to me?'_

" _What are you?" his mother asked, her expression a mixture of horror and disgust._

 _He ran. And ran and ran and ran. He had to get away. Far away._

 _Then someone grabbed him from behind and brought him down. It was his friend._

 _Logan raised his hands defensively, expecting his friend to be furious at him for killing his father. "I didn't mean to!"_

" _Yes you did!" said the older boy. But there was no hatred in his voice. "He deserved it! And you gave it to him." He put his hands on Logan's shoulders, looking him in the eyes. "We're brothers, Jimmy. You realize that? And brothers protect each other." He paused, making sure it sank in. "You have to be hard now. Hard so that nothing can ever touch us."_

" _I want to go home," Logan said, his voice sounding small and vulnerable in the cold of the winter night._

" _We can't," said the boy. "We stick together no matter what. And take care of anyone who gets in our way. Can you do that, little brother?"_

 _Logan nodded shakily._

 _His brother smiled._

Logan shudders at the memory. The boy has the same twisted grin as the man he saw before. That man is his _brother._ And, for reasons he doesn't know, he regards him with unmistakable hatred.

As Charles helps him piece the details together, Logan manages to recall his age at the time as well as the year. However, he has a harder time recalling his brother's name. As he searches further, a swirl of memories and emotions hit him.

' _I'm not your friend. I despise my humanity as much as you cherish yours. I am an animal who dreamed he was a man. But the dream is over and the beast is awake. And I will come for you without mercy, because it's my nature.'_

Victor. Victor Creed. That's his brother's name.

The name doesn't mean much to Logan. Then Charles shows him a memory. A memory of him fighting the man who had attacked him when he first met Rogue. At first, Logan doesn't understand why Charles is showing him this. But it becomes very clear when he sees the feral man's face… wearing _that smile_.

Logan can't tell which revelation is more shocking. That he's one hundred and seventy-six years old…or that Sabretooth is his brother.

. . .

Logan gasps, opens his eyes and jerks away from the Professor's touch. Sweat rolls down his face in large beads and his heart pounds against the metal of his ribcage.

"Are you alright, Logan?" Charles asks. "We can stop if you'd like."

"Just…give me a minute," Logan replies shakily. He holds his head in his hands and stares blankly at the floor. "I just need to…process this."

Charles nods. "Take as long as you need, son."

They are silent for a long time.

. . .

"Why didn't he say anything?" Logan asks.

Charles knows what he means, but he lets Logan speak.

"When he attacked me and Rogue… Why didn't he say anything if he knew I was his brother?"

"Perhaps he doesn't remember you," Charles replies, steepling his fingers. "It's entirely possible that he has suffered as much as you have."

Logan replies with a dry, humorless laugh. "I doubt it," he says.

Charles raises an eyebrow at Logan's narrowmindedness, but decides not to try to discuss the matter further, since he knows it will only end in an argument. Logan has a lot on his mind so it isn't the time to open old wounds.

. . .

Logan sits there, trying to control his breathing and relax. 'One hundred and seventy-six? Holy shit… I'm old enough to be the Professor's grandfather.'

He had known he must have been old, but he had suspected himself to be somewhere around sixty-five, eighty at the most. It wouldn't bother him so much if he had at least retained some of his memories of before he woke up in that hospital in Canada, but he lost everything. He had lived almost two whole lifetimes and didn't remember any of it, bar what Charles has helped him restore, and it scares him. He could have been anyone, a criminal, a murderer, a rapist. There's almost no way of knowing.

'Maybe it's better this way,' he thinks to himself. 'It saves me the pain of knowing…' But there will always be part of him that wants to know the truth.

He takes a deep breath. "I'm okay now," he says, looking up at Charles. "Let's keep going."

Charles nods and places his hands on Logan's temples once again.

There is one more piece of the puzzle Logan needs to find. Laura. _Who is Laura? Why does she seem so important to me?_ The images that flash by that are mostly indistinguishable. However, one thing stands out:

The sound of an infant, crying.

Logan hears the faint cry and immediately tries to strain his ears to hear it better, but it goes away. _'Calm down,'_ he tells himself. After a few moments, he hears the cry again, louder this time. It sounds like … _a baby …_ or perhaps a small child. It keeps getting clearer and louder until he can hear it as if it it's in front of him. He opens his eyes and there she is. A tiny baby girl, with warm, hazel eyes and soft, chestnut hair, cradled in his arms. She's beautiful.

"Laura," he breathed. It's her. This is Laura. She belongs to him … and he belongs to her.

 _Logan rocked the babe in his arms, calming her, as he hummed a soft melody. The child's cries eventually ceased and he placed her in her mother's arms. The beautiful, dark-haired woman smiled as tears of joy streamed down her face at seeing her daughter for the first time._

 _It was Sarah…_

" _Hello, Laura," she said softly, as the infant grabbed a hold of her pinky finger. "I'm your mommy." She looked up at Logan and smiled. "Logan, you're a daddy."_

 _Logan smiled down at his wife and child, happy tears hidden in the corners of his eyes._

Then, the happy memory fades into something more sinister...

 _They were still in the hospital, staying overnight to monitor the baby and Logan's wife. Logan slept soundly next to them, until he woke to the sound of his wife, screaming._

 _The last thing he saw was his wife, lying in a pool of blood, and the grinning face of Stryker, holding his child in one arm and a smoking gun in the other._

 _He aimed the gun at Logan and pulled the trigger._

 _Then there was nothing._

* * *

"The past is never where you think you left it."

Kathrine Anne Porter


End file.
